


I Hate Love Songs

by fire_within



Series: Destiel Holiday Oneshots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bisexual Dean, Charlie Ships It, Dean lets his geek flag fly, Demisexual Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Human Castiel, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_within/pseuds/fire_within
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has never put much stock in the importance of Valentine's Day. A run in with a stranger, a flower with a mind of its own, and a plan to flee the country may change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Hate Love Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd so any mistakes are completely my own. Please feel free to let me know of any you see so thst I may correct them.
> 
> Also, if reception toward this fic is favorable I may turn this into a series of destiel holiday one-shots.

Dean Winchester does not need help finding a date, especially from his baby brother. He simply has no time for romance in his life right now. His life is full, spending his days working at his uncle Bobby's garage, his evenings out with friends or, on rare occasions when he is feeling especially brave, singing and playing guitar at his favorite cafe's open mic night, and volunteering during the weekends. So yeah, Dean can find a date all on his own, thank you very much. He just sees no reason to look for one just so he's not alone on Valentine's Day. Sammy, however, sees things very differently.

"Come on, Dean. Jess and I are worried about you," Sam says, turning his hazel green pleading puppy dog look on his older brother.

Dean huffs out an annoyed sigh, regarding Sam through narrowed eyes. "Don't be," he snaps. "If I wanted a date, I'd have one. Maybe you think it's sad to be alone on Valentine's Day, but I think it's way sadder to be stuck eating dinner with a stranger you pretend to have a connection with because you're too afraid to stand your own company."

Sam fixes his brother with one of his patented bitch-faces but when he speaks, his voice is much more gentle than Dean expects. "Please. It's just one night and you'd be doubling with Jess and me, so that takes off a ton of pressure. Plus, we're going to the Roadhouse. It'll be fun, I promise."

Candy apple green eyes roll, but when Dean shakes his head it's in defeat rather than refusal. "Yeah, whatever. I guess one night won't kill me." He rises from the sofa and saunters toward the front door of his baby brother's apartment. "But," he calls over his shoulder from the entryway, "if I do this, you're paying, bitch!"

Barking out a laugh, Sammy shouts at his brother's back, "Fine, just be there at seven, jerk! Seven, don't be late!"

Dean raises a hand as both acknowledgement and a goodbye before closing the door and heading toward his '67 Chevy Impala. He smiles as he slides into the driver's seat. His Baby is the only love he needs in his life. She was his old man's first, but really Dean feels as if she has always been his, just waiting for him to come of age. She's the second most important lady in his life and before he can do anything else this evening, he has an errand to run so he can pay a visit to the woman who takes top billing in his heart.

The engine roars to life, a deep purr reverberating in his chest as he cruises through town toward the shops. Yeah, he may not have the apple pie life that Sammy has in the works, but what he does have is enough to keep him pretty happy. Most days, anyway.

Dean parks Baby in front of an unassuming shop nestled within a row of unassuming shops. If he didn't frequent the location on a semi-regular basis, he would drive past it without a second glance himself. But he comes here several times a year and the woman that owns and runs the tiny shop knows him well.

The tinkling of bells alerts a middle aged black woman with kind eyes and a serene smile to the new presence in the shop. "Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe. You're cutting it awful close today. Lucky for you, you're one of my favorite customers and I got your order together this morning." Her words may be stern but her tone is full of motherly teasing.

An impish grin graces Dean's face as he joins the shop owner at the counter. "Hey Ms. Missouri. You know I'd never miss a pickup day. How else would I get to see your gorgeous face so often?" He throws a playful wink her way.

"Boy, you are far too young and I have known you for far too long. Now you just hush and get your Momma's flowers. I've got myself a hot date I'm itching to get to and I'll not have you holding me up just because you're not over the moon about your own little blind date."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at Missouri in wonder. "How did you-"

"Ah, ah, ah," she childes him. "Now, Dean, you'd best close your mouth before you start catching flies. You know good and well that just because you don't say it doesn't mean that I don't know it." Her expression turns thoughtful for a moment and she quickly ducks under the counter. She returns with a beautiful bouquet of daylilies in a perfect blend of creams, lavenders, and blush pinks. "For your Momma. And this," she passes him a single white camellia, its ruffled petals full and velvety soft, "is for you, for tonight."

Dean gives the florist a warning look. "I don't even want to go on this lame date. There's no way I'm bringing flowers."

Missouri just shakes her head at him and takes his payment. "I said this one was for you, not your date. It's for luck." She gives him a significant look. "Now go on. I'll see you back again in a couple of months."

"Thanks, Missouri." He takes his flowers and heads toward the exit. As he steps out of the door, he runs into a man rushing in. His free hand shoots out to prevent the slightly smaller man from losing his footing. "Whoa," he exclaims with a breathy chuckle. "Easy, Tiger."

Wide, azure eyes regard him with surprise. "My apologies," a low growl of a voice, like honey bourbon poured over gravel, addresses him.

It feels like all the air is punched out of Dean's lungs. He clears his throat to loosen the words that seem to have caught there. "No problem, dude," he stammers out around a nervous laugh. "You're, uh, just lucky you got here when you did. She was about to close shop for the day."

"Oh, yes, that is lucky," the dark haired man agrees. He bites his plush pink lower lip as he drops his intense gaze to the strong hand still gripping his bicep. "I should..." he lets the words trail off into the air as he inclines his head toward the door.

Dean quickly retracts his hand as if he's been burned. "Right! Um, good luck with the flowers, dude!" He shoots the handsome stranger a tight smile then bolts for his Baby before the other man has a chance to react.

 

@~~>~~>~~ ~~<~~<~~@

 

He walks slowly up the meticulously groomed pathway, the bouquet Ms. Moseley has crafted for him hanging at his side. Finally, he arrives to his destination. "Hey, mom," he begins in a soft voice as he crouches down to address a headstone engraved with the name, 'Mary Winchester.'

"Happy Valentine's Day. I brought your flowers," he informs her, gently waving the daylilies before gingerly nestling them against his mother's grave. This is the latest addition to a tradition he and his father had started several years ago after Sammy had left Kansas and run off to Stanford. He and John would visit Mary's grave on Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, and her birthday. After John had died of a heart attack four years ago, Dean had decided to continue the tradition on his own. He likes the idea that Mary's looking over her boys and often spends his time here updating her on their lives and talking out the problems in his own.

"So, you and dad got any romantic plans for tonight? Seems everyone but me is looking forward to some hot date." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his freckled face. "Sam and Jess are still going strong and I'm happy for them, I really am, but now they've got it in their heads that if they're leading the apple pie life, I ought to be, too."

He toys with a blade of grass at his feet. "I don't know, mom." He huffs out a frustrated laugh. "It's not like I've never thought about it. I mean, me and Lisa, we gave it a shot. It just never quite felt right, ya know? And now the Wonder Twins are trying to set me up on a blind date with some old college buddy of theirs as if being alone on Valentine's Day will guarantee that I die alone. I told Sammy I'd go, but I'm not sure I really should. It's just going to be awkward and sitting there with the planet's most perfect couple's only gonna emphasize it." Dean closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the smooth granite marker, allowing the cool stone to soothe him. "What should I do, mom?" he quietly breathes out ino the air.

Since Dean can remember, he's made a habit of doing all he can to keep his loved ones happy and, in his mind anyway, letting them down for just as long. Especially Sam. He hadn't been able to shield hm from their father's decline into alcoholism and neglect in the aftermath of Mary's death. He hadn't been able to prevent the rift between John and Sam that had led to his baby brother running halfway across the country and not speaking to either of them for years. And now he can't do something to make his brother happy as simply going on one measly date.

After a few more quiet moments sitting before his mother's grave as he contemplates his situation, Dean rises to his feet and pats the headstone reverently. His mouth is set in a firm line, finally making up his mind to do what it takes to make his brother happy even if he isn't thrilled about it himself. After all, it's just one dinner, right? "I guess I'd better get going. I've got a date to get ready for. I love you, mom. I hope you like the flowers."

 

@~~>~~>~~ ~~<~~<~~@

 

One last glance in the mirror. Jeans: faded and worn, but in a comfortable way, not a trashy way, and surprisingly free of holes; undershirt: well, hopefully people either won't notice or won't care that it's a Led Zeppelin concert tshirt that's older than him; lastly, overshirt: he figures you can never go wrong with a flannel and knows damn well his brother will agree, so he figures the blue, purple, and pink one he's rocking tonight is different enough to count as making an effort while still remaining in his comfort zone.

He takes a deep breath. 'You've got this,' he mentally assures himself. Making his way to the door, he does his traditional pocket pat down. Wallet. Cellphone. Keys. He lets the door swing shut behind him and gives the knob a quick twist to ensure the lock has caught.

When he starts up Baby the corners of his mouth can't help but kick up into a reflexive smile. It's very rare that Baby can't pull him out of even some of his worst moods. The rumble of her engine helps soothe the nerves he's currently feeling and he gives her steering wheel a tender pat of thanks. It's a gorgeous night; he rolls down the windows, cranks up the classic rock already blasting from the speakers, and starts the drive to the Roadhouse.

He's no more than five minutes from his destination when it happens. The flower Missouri had given him earlier that day blows free from where it has been tucked into the driver's side visor and lands in the backseat on top of his guitar case. Green eyes look back through the rear view mirror. Shaking his head, Dean takes a left rather than turning right as he should to get to his date. "Sammy's gonna kill me."

It's not long before he's pulling into a strip mall parking lot in front of a cafe called Freedom of Espresso. The coffeehouse appears to be busier than Dean would expect on the supposedly, 'most romantic day of the year,' and for a moment uncertainty rises in his gut. Before it can assert its hold, however, the mechanic tightens his jaw resolutely, grabbing his guitar and the camellia from the back of the Impala and enters the cafe.

As he spots the young redheaded barista behind the register, the tension starts to melt from his body. "Dean!" she cries once she spots him through the crowd of people. "Greetings, my loyal hand maiden! Parketh thy ass and I shall consort with thee momentarily!" She shoots him a cheesy grin and a wink as she processes another customer's credit card payment.

Dean returns the smile and, with an over-the-top bow, calls back, "As my Queen commands, so is it done," before making his way to an overstuffed beige suede armchair tucked into a quiet corner.

A couple minutes later, the fiery young women is draping herself inelegantly across Dean's lap. She sighs dramatically, flinging her arm over her forehead as she gazes up at her friend. "You've no idea how exhausting it is to deal with these peasants for hours on end. Tell me, sweet hand maiden, that you've come to rescue me?"

Throwing his head back as a full body laugh escapes him, he directs her attention to the guitar by his feet. "One rescue operation coming up, Charlie. I'll distract them with my terrible singing while you run out the back. I'll meet you by the dumpsters and we'll take Baby all the way to TJ."

Charlie strokes her chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Hmm. Okay, but let's adjust a few details. One. Your singing will make every dude and babe in this joint swoon. Two. I don't think a delicate flower such as myself could survive the harsh conditions of Mexico, so maybe we could flee to Canada instead, thank-you-very-please. I hear that Vancouver's lovely this time of year. And three. We have to save my angel, too." She ticks off each point on her fingers as she brings them up. "Still in?"

A snort of laughter escapes Dean, causing the barista in his lap to sit up in order to regard him properly. "You're telling me," he questions in an amused tone, "that I've gotta rescue one of Charlie's Angels?"

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before her mouth morphs into a megawatt grin. "I cannot believe I didn't think of that first! But, yeah, you totally do." She catches sight of the time and her expression turns grim. "I've got to get back to work. At least Angel's getting back from his break in a minute. Want me to put you on the list and send you over a coffee?"

Dean smiles gratefully at her, dropping a quick kiss to the crown of her head before giving her a playful shove to her feet. "That'd be awesome, Charlie." As she heads back toward the register, throwing the Vulcan sign for 'live long and prosper' over her shoulder, Dean yells to her, "Don't forget, it gets cold in Vancouver! You and your angel better bring parkas!"

A quiet buzzing pulls Dean's focus away from his friend. Nervousness ripples through his body as he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his worn leather jacket. "Son of a bitch," he mutters under his breath, not even needing to look at the screen to know that it's his younger brother.

**S:** _Hey man where are you? Jess and I grabbed a booth in back._

He stuffs his phone back in his pocket without responding. Avoiding the problem is the Winchester way, after all.

His phone resumes its persistent buzzing.

**S:** _Zach's here...why aren't you?!?!_

Shit. Dean is pretty certain that Sam's begining to realize Dean's bailing on this whole blind date thing. He huffs out a heavy sigh as he holds down the power button on his phone. Once it shuts down, he tucks it away again and settles back into his seat. He screws his eyes shut and tries to block out all sensations except the young folk singer with the pretty alto voice melodically plucking the strings of a ukulele on the cafe's tiny stage.

"Um, Charlie told me to bring you over a coffee. Somethng about payment for safe passage?" a familiar voice rumbles, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

His eyes open comically wide and he bolts upright like a shot. "It's you!" he exclaims. "Wait. You're Charlie's angel?"

The angel with the dark mocha bedhead tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow quizzically. "I'm sorry? Her what now?"

Dean feels heat rise in his cheeks. "Ah, her angel? Sorry. When Charlie mentioned you she forgot to give me a name. Just kept calling you 'Angel.' Course, I think I'm starting to understand the nickname." He gives the gorgeous young barista a shy smile. Taking the paper to-go cup of steaming coffee from him, he lets his fingers slide, completely on accident, honestly, against the other man's. He doesn't notice how long and graceful the digits are during this casual caress. Nope! Not at all! And he certainly doesn't feel any disappointment when the all too brief contact ends.

"Thanks. It's actually Castiel, by the way."

"Casty-what, now?" the green eyed mechanic responds dumbly.

The other man lets out a low chuckle that reminds Dean of the rolling purr of a pleased feline. "Castiel. I was actually named for the angel of Thursday, hence Charlie's nickname for me."

Dean gives a slow, thoughtful nod. "That's kinda cool. Being named after an angel. I mean, could be worse, right?" He throws Castiel a conspiratorial wink.

Shaking his head, the dark haired man lets out another peal of laughter. "Try telling that to my brother Lucifer."

Choking on his coffee, Dean takes a moment to catch his breath before rasping out, "Seriously? Oh my god!"

"No. I am Castiel." When he grins down at Dean his nose scrunches up at the bridge in a way that the green eyed man finds inexplicably sexy.

"Oh, hey," Dean begins, attempting to sound casual, "how'd it work out with the flowers? They make up for you working on Valentine's Day?"

Castiel looks confused for a moment before comprehension sparks across his features. "Yes. Ms. Moseley made me a lovely arrangement. They were very helpful in cheering up my sister. Though I don't believe she cares one way or the other of my own plans for the day."

"Your sister? Not a hot date?"

Castiel scoffs and makes a face at the question. "My siblings have informed me that I am tragically, terminally single. I prefer to think of myself as discerning. Less tragic. Less terminal. I see no reason in dating simply to avoid being single."

"Exactly!" Dean exclaims. "That's the same thing I was saying to my brother earlier today when he insisted on setting me up on a blind date to double with him and his girl."

This causes the young man with the impossibly blue eyes to give him a gummy grin. "So you are also tragically, terminally single?"

Dean gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Nah. Just discerning."

The cafe's speakers crackle with static as someone adjusts the microphone. "Up next we have the always enchanting musical stylings of Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, please make your way to the stage. Oh, and Angel, please fly your feathery ass back to the espresso machine." The boys look up at the stage just in time to see Charlie throw them a cheeky wink and a smirk before jumping off the platform to return to work.

Rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit, Dean lets out a soft chuckle. "Shit. I guess that's my cue, huh?" He pushes himself to his feet and gathers his things. Pausing for a moment, he twirls the flower in his hand. Smiling at the man in front of him, he holds out the flower. "Happy Valentine's Day, Angel."

"Thank you, Dean. I suppose I'll see you when it's time to escape to Canada." He takes the white camellia from Dean and heads back over to Charlie who has been watching the pair with a smug smile on her face since her theatrics on the stage.

Dean hoists himself up onto the tiny stage along with his guitar case. He sets himself up on the rickety three-legged stool in the center of the platform and adjusts the microphone to a comfortable height. Finally, he pulls an old acoustic guitar out of the case, settling it into a comfortable position across his lap. "Hey, I'm Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women." There are a few cheers and whoops from the crowd at this. The mechanic looks down at his feet like a bashful schoolboy. "Actually," he clears his throat, "I think I may have to change that last part to, 'blue eyed baristas with unbelievable sex hair' now." There's a shout of, "Hell yeah," that he's certain comes from Charlie.

"So, yeah, since it's Valentine's Day and we're all getting hyped up on caffine instead of holding hands across the table in a candlelit restaurant, I thought I'd play some anti-Valentine's songs for you tonight. This first one is by a band that's a bit of a guilty pleadure of mine. They're called Gwar and the song is I Hate Love Songs."

After playing a few songs in the same theme and thanking the other patrons for rocking out with him, Dean hops off the stage. He makes his way up to Charlie's side at the counter. "I do believe it's nearly closing time, your Majesty. Art thou prepared to make the great journey to the North?"

"I'm afraid I must stay behind for now, dearest hand maiden. There are matters here I must attend to. I would, however, ask that you still escort my Angel to safety. Castiel!" Her coworker joins them by the register and shoots a questioning look Charlie's way. "There's not much left to do here. Why don't I take care of it and Dean can give you a lift home? You're actually on his way."

"That would be great, if you're both sure you're okay with it." His gaze flicks between Charlie and Dean and they both nod their acceptance of the proposed plan. A wide smile overtakes his face. "Great. Thanks, Charlie. And thank you, Dean."

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Go on before I change my mind." She shoos them out the door. "Peace out, bitches!" the redhead calls after them as she switches off the neon 'open' sign in the window.

Dean escorts the other man to his Impala and rocks back and forth on his heels with a smug smile when Castiel murmurs his admiration and gently runs a hand over her frame. "You into cars?" he asks, a hopeful quirk to his voice.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about them, but I think yours looks very nice."

Dean's grin turns predatory. "Wait til you feel her move." He opens the passenger door for the dark haired man and carefully closes it behind him. Then, after placing his guitar in the backseat, he settles himself behind the wheel and lets Baby roar to life. He lets out a soft chuckle when he turns to the gorgeous barista beside him and sees that his blue eyes have gone comically wide. "Where to, Cas?"

They make it to Castiel's apartment complex in record time and even though it's late neither man seems to be in any rush to part. They stand closely enough to the other that they can each feel the heat radiating off the other man as they lean against the Impala's side quietly chatting.

"Hey, Cas," Dean begins slowly, eyes focusing intently on his boots. He draws his bottom lip through his teeth before gathering the courage to continue. "I really liked talking with you tonight. I thought maybe I could get your number and maybe spend some time together where neither of us is working?" His cheeks are stained pink by the time he gets the words out. He used to be good at this, he's sure of it, but this beautiful creature's got him so completely turned around and twisted up that he's amazed he can even form a complete sentence, even if it's totally lame.

Castiel doesn't seem to notice how inept Dean feels as he smiles sweetly up Dean. "I think I would like that very much." Then, with no warning whatsoever, Cas surprises his companion by quickly reaching into Dean's pocket and snatching out his phone. After powering the device on, slender, dexterous fingers input his number and send a text to his own phone. He looks at Dean through a thick veil of dark lashes. "Sorry," he murmers softly. "I should have asked first." He extends his hand, offerimg the phone back to its owner.

Rather than taking back the phone, Dean gently grasps Castiel's wrist and pulls the slightly smaller man closer to him. He can feel Cas' surprised gasp flutter against his cheek. Leaning into his space but stopping just shy of his target, Dean's jade eyes search Castiel's azure ones. "Okay?" he asks softly. The other man's breath hitches and he can only give a shaky nod of approval. It's all Dean needs to close the gap between them.

The kiss is chaste, soft and delicate and neither man pushes for more. Finally, the burning need for oxygen makes them separate. Still, Dean keeps his hold on Castiel's wrist and Castiel has his fingers twisted up in Dean's light brown hair. They keep their foreheads pressed together as they share ragged breaths. Dean leans back in, stealing a few more quick kisses before sliding his hand over Castiel's and, after giving it a quick squeeze, taking back his phone.

"I'll text you when I get get back, yeah?"

Cas nods quickly. "You'd better." The hand that had so tightly gripped Dean's hair snakes its way down his neck and across the firm muscles of his chest as Castiel disentangles himself from the other man. He slowly makes his way toward his apartment, stopping at the door to see Dean watching from his spot against Baby. They give each other a final wave before Cas slips inside. He closes his eyes and smiles to himself as he hears Baby's engine growling out into the night from the other side of the door.

When Dean gets home he pulls off his clothes until he's bare to his boxer briefs and grabs his phone before he flops unceremoniously onto his bed. There are several notifications indicating missed calls and texts from his brother. Dean clears them out without checking their contents. He'll deal with the aftermath of ditching his date tomorrow. For now he just wants to ride the high of his night with Castiel for as long as possible.

Going into his contacts he smiles when he sees the new addition. He punches out a quick message and hits the send icon.

**D:** _Happy Valentine's Day Angel_

His phone buzzes soon after, indicating that he has a new message.

**C:** _Happy Valentine's Day, Dean._


End file.
